


Argon: Empty

by ThatFeanorian



Series: 50 Character Studies for 50 Silmarillion Elves (...and Valar... And Maiar) [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Does it count as suicide if someone else does it purposefully?, F/M, Gen, Internal Monologue, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFeanorian/pseuds/ThatFeanorian
Summary: The first work in my 50 character studies series, Argon reflects on their march across the grinding ices and what it means for him and his future.
Relationships: Argon | Arakáno & Anairë, Argon | Arakáno & Fingon | Findekáno
Series: 50 Character Studies for 50 Silmarillion Elves (...and Valar... And Maiar) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568458
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Argon: Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Argon (Arakáno) was Fingolfin’s fourth and youngest son, who died in the first fight in Beleriand.

He missed his Ammë. Argon wasn't afraid to admit it, though in later days he would deny it hotly and defend his honor against any who dared to doubt him. His only thought in that moment, as he took the final step on that hard won path to the outer lands, was of how much he missed his Ammë. Starving, freezing, on the brink of collapse, yet burning with the fire of triumph, the Noldor looked behind them and saw the grinding ices of the Helcaraxë, yet finally when they looked before them, the ice was gone.

Grass! Argon had forgotten what grass felt like, the spiky green blades shimmering beneath the starlight. Once, in a life that seemed nigh on opposite to the one he was living now, Argon had snuck out late at night, or perhaps at that point it had been early in the morning, to sit beneath the silver light of Telperion on the grass, his tunic slowly soaking through with the dew resting in tiny diamonds on each vibrant sprig of grass beneath him. He had watched as the lights mingled, the warm golden and the cool silver, every color in between glowing in the sky above him in a canvas of color unfathomable, a brilliant array of glory that could never be replicated by paint nor spoken word.

Argon wondered if his Ammë had known he had done this. He wondered if even now, she lay where he had, the thin silks of her dresses soaking with de as she looked up at the sky, now a forboding black dotted with stars, which despite all of their brilliance could not black out the dark. As he turned his own eyes upwards, the stars seemed to swim, and Argon realized his eyes were filled with tears, threatening to overflow, but he musnt let them, he must stay strong for everyone around him, for those who had lost so so much more than he had.

An arm around his shoulders, a whispered word of comfort, the wailing lamentations of the finally victorious elves who had conquered the impassible ice, all of it blurred together as Argon desperately tried to keep himself together, tried not to think about just how alone and lost they were, how utterly alone and lost and wrong and doomed and... Argon was alone, sitting curled in on himself by a fire, unable to think nor speak nor understand, and a dry sob escaped his throat.

He wanted to go home. Argon didn't belong here in this world of the lost and the doomed, he wanted to go home to his Ammë and his bed and his future of peace and hope. All that despair bubbled up inside of him and threatened to burst out, but Argon knew it couldn't. He was a Prince. He had to act like a prince.

But a Prince of who? The disowned? The lost and the doomed? Hadn't they been abandoned and left behind? Argon felt another sob choking his throat and buried his face in his hands. It was too much, the despair building up inside him. It didn't matter that they had conquered the Helcaraxë, that they were finally free, for each step he took brought him farther away from the loving embrace of his Ammë, and Argon would have walked the entirety of the grinding ice again if it meant that he would be back with his Ammë, his Ammë who had sat by a fire not so different from this one not so long ago and who would have held him and dried his tears if only she was here now.

Argon would have given anything to have here there now, but she was not.

She was not.

She was not.

Argon jumped to his feet at the sound of a horn, and the dismayed cries of the people around him were drowned out but the pounding of his own heart within his ears. He never heard the hurried order for a retreat, he never saw his brothers running after him, calling his name, fear etched into their very fëas.

He could see the orcs, and he drew his sword, he was running, hope flooding his veins, because he knew, he knew he was going home.

_I am coming._

As Argon lay on his back, gasping in pain, his tunic slowly being soaked through by blood mixing with the dew of the grass beneath him, he smiled, for above him in the sky he saw the gentle golden light of Laurelin, and he knew that any moment he would hear his Ammë calling his name,

_Arakáno, come inside! Come here love!_

Argon could almost feel her arms around him, and indeed could hear someone calling him, though this voice was deep and commanding. Argon didn't care though, the voice was calling his name, and he wanted to listen, for the longer he listened, the less everything hurt, and the more he could almost see the light of the candle his mother was holding, calling out his name, and calling him inside to get warm. He stood up and walked towards the voice, all the pain disappearing, and a deep bliss settling across his mind. He walked towards the voice, each step carrying him closer and closer to where he wanted to be, unaware that as he did, he left his hröa behind him. He was going back, and his soul sang in joy.

_I am coming, Ammë. I am coming home._

**Author's Note:**

> Words and Notes:
> 
> Ammë - Mother
> 
> A note about how I see Argon:  
> Okay, so I know I deviated from canon here, but personally I see Argon as one of the youngest in a huge family (like my sister actually) attempting to prove to everyone that he are strong and brave and all that, while really being scared out of his mind. Argon, despite not appearing in Tolkien's work too long, really grabbed my imagination and I think he is really interesting to work with.


End file.
